Harry Potter and the Missing Element
by Larna Mandrea
Summary: Memories of Sirius, new relationships, intense classes, the Dark Lord, Quidditch, and the prophecy are just a few of the things Harry Potter has to deal with during his sixth year at Hogwarts—can he handle it all? Angst in abundance!
1. Countdown

_ **Harry Potter and the Missing Element  
**_ _Author:_ Larna Mandrea  
_Start Date:_ July 6, 2004

_Summary:_ Memories of Sirius, new relationships, intense classes, the Dark Lord, Quidditch, and the prophecy are just a few of the things Harry Potter has to deal with during his sixth year at Hogwarts— can he handle it all? Rated PG-13 for language, mild violence, and some kissing.  
  
**Disclaimer: It all belongs to Jo Rowling; if I wanted to share her sixth book, I would have at least titled it Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince! However, I didn't, so you lawyer types can go back to your coffee and scones and leave me be, the poor little author that I am.  
  
A/N: This chapter is extremely short. Really, its more of a prologue than anything; the others will be longer, I promise. I've got the whole story planned out and its going to be intense! If anyone wants to be my beta, just let me know via review! Now, read on, and review! It makes a soul soar to see reviews (or I imagine it would, it hasn't happened yet). I don't mind flames—it means you've actually read my piece, and that's all I can hope for. Thanks and enjoy!**

_Chapter 1: Countdown_  
  
Sunlight streamed through a small clouded window of number 4, Privet Drive, its bright arc falling squarely across the face of the house's most unusual resident, a boy with jet black hair whose eyes remained stubbornly closed. Through his bangs, a thin lightening bolt-shaped scar was barely visible, and it was prickling uncomfortably as usual. Most people would be extremely worried about such an occurrence, but for Harry Potter, it was merely an annoying regularity. His scar had not stopped bothering him sense the all- too recent confrontation at the Department of Mysteries, but the pain was mild and Harry was accustomed to it. Besides, there were other things that were troubling him a great deal more; one thing in particular absolutely refused to leave his mind, and it brought Harry tremendous amounts of pain, although he did not physically show it.  
  
The boy-who-lived rolled over and buried his head under the covers, attempting in vain to empty his head. His nightmares had gotten considerably worse after the incident at the end of the school year; he was now haunted nightly by visions of Sirius, falling through the mysterious veil. Harry could not manage to dispel the bubbling guilt that greeted him whenever he was reminded of his dead godfather, which happened often in an empty house that offered little in the way of distractions. Memories of Sirius dominated his thoughts, and in the few moments he was able to allay the blame he placed so heavily on himself, he was reminded of the prophecy that was revealed at the end of term, predicting either Harry or Voldemort's death, or quite possibly both. The combination of the two horrors left Harry feeling extremely depressed for the first half of the summer, and as a result, he had accomplished very little on his break.  
  
People were moving around downstairs, but Harry didn't rush to rise from his fitful slumber. His relatives had thankfully given up on trying to force him to do anything, largely because Uncle Vernon was terrified that Harry might alert the Order if he was dissatisfied. The correspondence was dutifully kept up as required; Harry sent a letter each night before bed to confirm his safety and well being. Well, they reassured Lupin that he wasn't being mistreated, at any rate. Harry's sense of well being had long been dissolved, and it was unlikely to recover anytime soon. The letters were always short and emotionless, closely matching Harry's expressions; they were devoid of the anger, hate, frustration, and guilt that resided within the teenager. Most of his days were spent shut in his bedroom, lying lethargically on the bed, dwelling on thoughts of his deceased godfather or reading the Daily Prophet to stay connected with the wizarding world.  
  
Hermione and Ron both wrote often, trying desperately to keep Harry's spirits up, a task that had proved to be near impossible, although they didn't realize it. The mail they sent was always cheerful and as full of news as the pair could manage. Harry could tell from their letters that they were both at 12 Grimmauld Place, headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, the place where Harry had spent his last summer vacation and the former residence of his godfather. While Harry was glad to be leaving the Dursley's in a day's time, he didn't want to return to the place Sirius had hated so much. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to see Hermione or Ron; both would worry about him, and Harry didn't want to feign cheerfulness to assuage their concerns. Letters were easy to fake, but his two best friends knew Harry too well not to notice his true feelings in person.  
  
There was also the matter of the prophecy. Harry had told no one about its terms, but he knew he would have to reveal the truth to his friends eventually. He personally wasn't too worried about it, as there was little he could do to change it, but he was positive that Ron and Hermione would overreact considerably. He had imagined their reactions many times during the summer and wanted to put off the moment as long as possible.  
  
Groaning, Harry crawled out of bed. Every time he closed his eyes, he was confronted with visions of Sirius, so breakfast seemed like a worthy distraction. The Dursley's had already finished eating when Harry reached the kitchen, which suited him just fine. Dudley could be heard yelling at the television in the living room, but Harry ignored him in favor of fixing a few slices of toast, which he proceeded to shred rather than eat as he stared distantly out the window.  
  
Vernon Dursley strolled purposefully into the kitchen, the morning paper clutched tightly in his left hand, and sat down directly across from Harry without saying a word. Harry got up to head to head to his bedroom, eager to escape conversation, but stopped when his Uncle grunted at him.  
  
"You—your lot. Told 'em you're fine, haven't you?"  
  
Harry stared. His Uncle never discussed the magical community if he could at all avoid it. "Yes," he answered tentatively.  
  
"So they're not... not just going to just show up here, are they?" Mr. Dursley continued, choosing his words very carefully and avoiding Harry's gaze.  
  
Now was the time to weigh options. Mr. Dursley would be glad to be rid of his forced relation, but Harry didn't feel like discussing the details of his arrangement with the Order. "No," he responded slowly, choosing to keep his plans in secret. In less than 24 hours time, it wouldn't make a difference.  
  
"Right. You, erm, you just make sure they don't do anything funny," he barked, staring determinedly at the paper without really reading it.  
  
Harry took a few cautious steps up the stairs, still watching his Uncle carefully. When Mr. Dursley's eyes began scanning the newsprint once more, Harry stole away soundlessly back up to his bedroom and clicked the door shut. Heaving a rather large sigh, he collapsed on his bed, suddenly devoid of all energy and overcome with exhaustion.  
  
When he awoke, the room was barely lit by a steady stream of moonlight. The clock at his bedside read 11:56, and Harry vaguely realized that it was nearly his birthday. In four minutes time, he would be 16 years old. A small grin flitted across his face, the first in a very long time, as he remembered his past birthdays and imagined what this one held in store for him. Jumping up in a subdued excitement, he checked over his packed belongings to ensure that everything was ready. It was extremely lucky that he had woken up when he had; only two minutes remained until he grew another year older. Harry took a seat on his trunk and ran his hand absentmindedly along his Firebolt, trying desperately not to think of Sirius at such a time. He instead turned his attention to Hedwig, who was sitting contently in her cage, staring back at him.  
  
"Just one minute left, Hedwig," Harry murmured, stroking his snowy owl gently, recalling with a faint smile being presented with his first birthday present ever. "One minute to a new year. This one's going to be different, I can tell," he added quietly.  
  
"I imagine so," came a woman's voice from the doorway.


	2. The Pain of Deceit

**Disclaimer: The characters, locations, and tiny details that I love so much all belong to Jo Rowling, not me. Yes, I know, how sad...  
  
A/N: Thanks to all of my reviewers—I'm so glad you like it! Panther28, aschowin, Rednal29, sweethoneyno1, madison(), and Funny-Gal13—thank you so much for your kind words and praises (and for pointing out my error; you were right)! If anybody is interested in being my Beta, just let me know via review. Now, onto this chapter. I changed it many times, but I think I'm satisfied with it now. Go ahead; find out who that "mystery woman" is! Enjoy, and let me know what you think when you finish! Thanks!**  
  
_The Pain of Deceit_  
  
Harry turned around in momentary shock, but smiled weakly when he saw who had entered. Nymphadora Tonks, sporting long purple tresses, and a battered looking Remus Lupin were standing side by side in the doorway, both looking tired but content.  
  
"Happy birthday, Harry," said Lupin quietly. "Things all packed?"  
  
Harry nodded, his glance sweeping over his few possessions quickly. Tonks was grinning, and she pulled a worn baseball from her pocket. "I daresay there's a few people waiting to see you, so shall we go on ahead?"  
  
Once again, Harry chose to nod rather than speak, not wanting to risk awaking the Dursleys. He got a firm hold on his belongings, watching silently as Tonks turned the baseball into a portkey.  
  
"Because of the Minister's inquiry, it's a lot easier to get around these days," explained Lupin, catching Harry's eye. "Ready?"  
  
For the third time that night, Harry nodded in response and placed a finger on the baseball, closing his eyes and waiting for the familiar jerk that would transport him to 12 Grimmauld Place.  
  
When he opened his eyes, Harry couldn't hold back a gasp. Lupin and Tonks both stood on either side of him, but they were definitely not at the Black's residence. He looked around; the room was small and black, with no apparent furniture. "What--" he started, turning back to Lupin in confusion. "Did I misunderstand?" he questioned slowly, his voice faltering as he noticed the odd grin on the face of his former professor. At this point, Harry began to feel slightly unnerved. He was about to ask another question when Tonks gave a hideous cackle made his skin crawl. Harry closed his eyes, suddenly flooded with terror and hoping desperately that his instincts were wrong. That taunting laugh was all too familiar; its nightmarish tones turned Harry's insides to ice. Then it hit him: Tonks did not laugh like that.  
  
"Did the famous Harry Potter forget that the Dark Lord was after him?" she taunted in a mock-baby voice that definitely did not fit with Tonks' light voice.

Harry blinked hard, trying desperately to sort out his thoughts. Nymphadora Tonks was laughing most uncharacteristically, Remus Lupin was watching with an evil grin, they were in an unfamiliar location, and his scar was beginning to sear painfully. "You," he managed to gasp in accusatory rage as his eyes started to cloud. Harry felt the person acting as Remus Lupin leave his side, and he sank to his knees as Bellatrix continued hissing a stream of taunts and jeers. The pain in his forehead was worsening with incredible rapidity, but he scrambled desperately to formulate a plan of action. Harry knew that the best thing to do would be to clear his mind, but memories of Sirius and hatred towards Bellatrix were making that near impossible. His head felt as though it was splitting, and Harry feared he would lose consciousness. He had to fight, he couldn't give up; Harry began to focus on these thoughts, repeating them in his mind as a sort of mantra.  
  
"We meet again, Potter," came a cold voice dangerously close to Harry's head, which now felt as though it was going to explode. Squinting, the teenager tried to find an escape, but the pain was literally blinding, and he could not see through the tears.  
  
"You are easy to fool," Voldemort continued. "Those who love are the easiest to defeat." His tone was even, but tinged with superiority; his voice conveyed total control and power, and Harry wished he had been more suspicious before leaving the Dursleys. I have to fight, I can't give in, he reminded himself mentally, gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to scream.  
  
"The one thing you've taught me, Potter, is that torture is more fun with an audience." Harry could just barely make out the horrifying facial features glowing from the chalk-white face of the most evil wizard of all time, who spoke again, directing his words at the Tonks imposter.  
  
"How long has it been, Bella?"  
  
She responded with delight, a cruel smile spread mirthlessly across her lips. "Only five minutes more, my Lord."  
  
"Very well. That long, I can wait."  
  
For a short while, the room was silent. Harry could feel Voldemort's unrelenting gaze on him, but the pain from his scar was preventing the boy- who-lived from doing anything to escape. Helpless, he lay motionless on the floor until Voldemort began to speak once more.  
  
"It is time," he declared simply, surveying the Lupin imposter with mild amusement. Harry watched with a sickening feeling as Lupin's figure shrank and expanded, remolding hideously into the form of Peter Pettigrew, the man who was responsible for the death of his parents.  
  
"The polyjuice potion," explained Lord Voldemort cruelly, as Harry's eyes traveled to the newly restored frame of Bellatrix Lestrange, who was smirking in satisfaction. "It turns you into whomever you want for an hour. Most convenient, as it turns out."  
  
Harry allowed his eyelids to fall once more, feeling numb. Moody had preached to him on so many occasions about constant vigilance, but he, the famous Harry Potter, had delivered himself right into the hands of the most evil wizard of all time because he received a few letters that appeared to be authentic. Now he was stuck, stuck with Lord Voldemort, the murderer of his godparent, and the betrayer of his parents in a cold black room with no exit.  
  
"I think our friends should join us for this momentous occasion," mused the Dark Lord as he pressed a ghastly pale finger to Wormtail's forearm. When he pulled away the unnaturally long appendage, Pettigrew's dark mark was a deep charcoal black. Harry twitched involuntarily on the floor, fear flooding him in waves. He was going to die here, alone, before anyone had even noticed he was missing. Well, he thought in grim determination, _I'm not going to give in. I'm going to fight._ The mantra strengthened him, and he managed to stand, although his legs were shaking so madly he feared he would fall over.  
  
"Surely you don't think you can escape?" shrieked Bellatrix incredulously, her eyes alight as she watched Harry's trembling form.  
  
"This time, there is no chance of that," remarked Voldemort softly.  
  
Harry looked around desperately; there was no door visible within the seamless black walls. Voldemort laughed delicately, but his next comment was lost amid loud cracks and pops as the space filled with masked Death Eaters.  
  
The figures said nothing, but joined together to form a circle similar to what Harry had been subjected to in his fourth year. The parallel caused his stomach to lurch, but he tried desperately to clear his mind. _I have to fight; I can't give in._  
  
Bellatrix and Wormtail stood on either side of Voldemort, their unmasked faces leering at Harry. The Dark Lord's gaze was trained expertly on the boy who had been his downfall, but he chose to address the Death Eaters instead, a quiet authority lacing his otherwise icy voice.  
  
"Today is a special day indeed, my friends. Much celebration is in order, for today is the birthday of Harry Potter."  
  
Harry slid his hand into his pocket, gripping his wand tightly and feeling sick. There was nothing he could do...  
  
"Crucio!"  
  
The command cut through Harry's thoughts as he screamed, plunging to the floor while writhing in pain. The Death Eaters were all laughing as though someone had told a rather humorous joke, and Harry retched on the cold tiled floor, feeling utterly helpless.  
  
"Get up, Harry Potter."  
  
Slowly, Harry rose, clutching his scar desperately as though it would alleviate the pain. His wand sat forgotten in the pocket of his jeans, but he couldn't think of any way it could help him now. Magic had left him, and he had no other strength or power.  
  
"Crucio!" Before Harry had any time to recover, the Dark Lord had shot the unforgivable curse at him again, causing him to pitch into a pair of Death Eaters in the circle. Both shoved him back towards the center of the circle, but Harry felt one slip something into his hand. As he fell back onto the floor, he tried to see whom he had knocked into. All that were visible through their masks were their eyes, but Harry felt that one pair seemed horribly familiar.  
  
Voldemort was speaking once more, but Harry's mind was focused on the object in his palm. He slid it back and forth between his sweaty fingers, being careful not to let it slide out of his fist. It felt smooth and light, like a small piece of jewelry. His mind raced as he tried to identify the object and who had given it to him. Voldemort's voice suddenly cut through his thoughts, bringing his mind swiftly back to the circle of Death Eaters.  
  
"Answer me!" roared the Dark Lord, shooting a curse at Harry, who flew back in a daze. He stood up once more, trying unsuccessfully to catch a glimpse of the item in his hand.  
  
"Ignoring me will get you nowhere, Potter," spat Voldemort with impatience. "I grow weary of such tiresome acts."  
  
Harry closed his eyes, certain that this was the end. He heard Voldemort begin to shout another curse at him, but before the incantation had left his mouth, Harry felt a tug above his navel. He landed with a thud on a hardwood floor and collapsed in total confusion. A woman's scream was barely audible in the distance, as was the sound of several sets of footsteps on a nearby staircase. Harry tried to figure out where he was and how he got there, but he didn't even have the strength to open his eyes. His whole body was throbbing painfully, and his mind was jumping rapidly from thought to though without making sense of any of them.  
  
Someone gripped his wrist, but he couldn't summon the energy to pull away. The voices all around him were fading, and the last thing Harry Potter heard before losing consciousness was the sound of his two best friends, both screaming his name in terror.


	3. Awakenings

**Disclaimer: If I was Jo Rowling, I wouldn't have to resort to fanfiction and this would be the actual book. Then again, if I was Jo Rowling, Harry Potter wouldn't exist, because I'd be too scared to tell a soul. It's all hers.  
  
A/N: Here's chapter three, the chapter of semicolons. Thanks to all my many reviewers: Rednal, I owe your $10; Panther, he can't apparate yet, but everything's explained here; FunnyGal, who are you? I can't figure it out! I'd love for you to Beta, just leave an email address! Imperial, Harry's a strong kid. He can't die just yet, because I have more torture to put him through. grins evilly Rose, I'm glad you can bear it. I'm glad it freaked you out!  
  
A/N: Haha, you get two author's notes this time. You guys need to know that I'm a BIG fan of suffering!Harry, and he's going to go through a lot of emotional trauma. You have _no_ idea how much crap he's gonna have to deal with... I'd like to thank Jo for leaving OotP with a very, very canon suffering Harry. You have no idea how much it means to me. So, this chapter is a bit slower than the last one (and with reason), but enjoy it. The next installment will be up Monday. Now, read, enjoy, and review!  
**

_Awakenings_

"Did he just move? Wake up, Hermione, I think he just moved!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Yes he did, oh, look at his wrist!"  
  
"Harry? Ginny, go get Mum. Harry, mate, can you hear me?"  
  
Harry could indeed hear Ron beside him, but he hadn't the strength to move or respond. Where was he?  
  
"Is he awake? Are you sure?"  
  
It was dark, and Harry could sense how late it must be. Still, that didn't explain what he was doing here, or why his friends sounded so terrified...  
  
"Yes, Hermione, I'm positive."  
  
"Harry, oh, Harry, can you hear us?"  
  
The urgency and fear in Hermione's voice helped to bring Harry slowly to his senses. He must be at the Order Headquarters; yes, he remembered collapsing on the floor.  
  
"Why isn't he saying anything? Harry, Harry, if you can hear us, blink or do something!"  
  
"Ron, you're being stupid. Do something? Honestly, if he can hear us, he'll let us know! You probably just imagined him moving!"  
  
"I did not, I saw it!"  
  
Harry continued piecing his memories together... there had been letters, and he had believed them. His body was now trying to fall asleep, but Harry needed to figure everything out first. There had been a portkey, and a familiar death eater, and Voldemort. His face tightened as he remembered the trap; he had been captured, tricked, and tortured again by the Dark Lord.  
  
"Is he awake? Is he in pain? Oh, what am I saying," fretted Mrs. Weasley as she rushed into the room alongside an anxious Arthur, Bill, Ginny, and Lupin.  
  
Harry could tell a large crowd had assembled around his bed even though he couldn't seem anyone, and he tried to speak, to assure them that he was alright, but no words came out.  
  
"Harry? Can you hear us, Harry?" Lupin's voice was quiet and fearful, concern evident in his tone. Harry attempted a response, but it was as though his vocal chords weren't receiving the commands from his brain.  
  
"You're sure you saw him move, Ginny?" questioned Mrs. Weasley nervously.  
  
"Yes, Mum, Ron saw it too, I promise," replied the redhead fervently from the edge of the bed.  
  
There were a few moments of silence, the air in the room extremely depressing, before Harry managed to open his eyes. He realized vaguely that his glasses were missing, because all he could make out above him was a blurry sea of fiery orange hair.  
  
Mrs. Weasley produced a great sob, and the room gave a collective sigh of relief at this small act. Harry, unsure of what to say, managed to whisper a tentative, "Ron?"  
  
"Yeah, mate?" responded his best friend instantly, his freckled face looming over Harry's barely conscious form. He felt someone slide a pair of glasses onto his face, and a concerned Hermione Granger swam into view as well.  
  
"Here, Harry, drink this," ordered a red-rimmed Mrs. Weasley as she handed him a bright red potion. The liquid was hot and spicy, and Harry felt immediately strengthened. "Thanks," he murmured as he sat up and slid a hand through his hair dazedly.  
  
"What... what happened?" he asked, frowning as they all exchanged uneasy glances.  
  
"Where do we start," muttered Ginny, looking down at her feet. Bill wrapped an arm comfortingly around her, and she sighed softly.  
  
Harry stared at her, realizing immediately that something horrible must have happened. "What is it," he pressed, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.  
  
"Well, Harry," began Lupin uneasily, "I'm not sure how to say this, but..." His voice faltered.  
  
"Yes," prompted Harry, unnerved. Almost everyone he cared about was here with him, yet they were all acting as though someone had...  
  
"The thing is, we're not sure how you're going to take it," said Hermione gently from beside him.  
  
Harry was now extremely worried, and he noticed that no one would look him in the eye. "What is it?" he repeated with more urgency.  
  
It was Mr. Weasley that finally answered the question. "The Dursley's are dead, Harry."  
  
A pronounced silence followed this statement. "Dead?" repeated Harry in disbelief; everyone else was staring at him, trying to gauge his reaction.  
  
_Dead_, thought Harry in shock. The family he had been forced to put up with for as long as he could remember was gone. "But why?" he asked incredulously. Lupin looked away.  
  
Suddenly, it hit Harry. "My mother's blood," he breathed in astonished comprehension, ignoring Ron and Ginny's confused glances. Harry closed his eyes and tipped his head back so that it rested on the wall. He wasn't sure how he felt about their death; he wasn't rejoicing, but he certainly wasn't crying. They were just... gone, he realized, like so many others. Another family fallen because of Voldemort.  
  
_And_, added a nasty voice in the back of his head, _because of me.  
_  
"There was nothing anybody could have done," murmured Hermione softly, as though she could read his thoughts.  
  
Harry slid further under the covers at this, feeling worse than ever. Sure, he had hated the Dursleys, but they hadn't done anything deserving of such a death. _No_, he thought, feeling slightly more panicked, _they were protecting me.  
_  
Just like his parents.  
  
Just like Sirius.  
  
Harry moaned softly and retreated further under the sheets.  
  
"Get some sleep," said Lupin quietly, realizing that Harry had dealt with enough for one night.  
  
"Come on, kids," murmured Mrs. Weasley as she rubbed her tear-filled eyes.  
  
"We're staying here," said Ron resolutely, and Ginny nodded, gripping the corner post of the bed rather tightly.  
  
"You—you need your rest," protested Mrs. Weasley weakly, but Arthur laid a gentle hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "Let them stay, Molly."  
  
"They'll be fine," added Bill.  
  
The redheaded woman sighed but nodded, allowing her husband to guide her out of the room. Bill and Lupin followed silently, closing the door behind them, leaving Hermione, Ron, and Ginny standing worriedly around Harry's bed.  
  
"It isn't your fault," said Ginny quietly.  
  
Harry said nothing and kept his eyes shut tight so that the tears he was fighting couldn't escape. Why it all hit him so hard at this point in time, he couldn't explain, but all the guilt he had felt this summer had returned and intensified.  
  
"We're here for you, Harry," said Hermione, watching helplessly as Harry squirmed in obvious discomfort. Ron said nothing, but stared at his friend with a pitying gaze.  
  
Harry wished he could disappear; to evaporate painlessly would be so simple. But nothing in his life could be simple, he thought bitterly, and it was all because he was the boy-who-lived. The boy-that-wouldn't-die, really. Harry released a jagged breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.  
  
Determined not to let death dominate his waking moments, Harry tried to finish organizing his scattered memories from the recent events that were still foggy in his mind. "How long have I been here?" he asked weakly, dreading their answer.  
  
"Almost three days," responded Ron dryly.  
  
It was almost like being in school again, Harry thought, mentally rewinding back to his first year. That, too, held memories he wanted to bury, so he kept talking in an attempt to move on. "When did I get here?  
  
Hermione bit her lip nervously. "Harry, you really should just get some sleep; we can talk in the morning."  
  
Harry sighed in frustration; Hermione didn't realize that he was just searching for a distraction, a tribute to how late it was.  
  
"Snape said he slipped you a portkey," offered Ginny simply.  
  
"He, uh, delayed it so it wouldn't look suspicious," Ron elaborated, sounding as though he was losing his voice.  
  
So it was Snape, thought Harry in understanding. That's why I recognized his eyes. "I wish it would all just end," lamented Harry miserably, his thoughts drifting back to the prophecy.  
  
"In time," murmured Hermione, "In time."  
  
Even though Harry knew Hermione was trying to be comforting, an unsurpassable anger had flared up inside him at her words. Time. He'd already had too much, yet there was never enough of it; it was the ultimate paradox.  
  
"You really should get some sleep, Harry," said Ron awkwardly. Soft snores issuing from the end of the bed informed the trio that Ginny had already left them for the night, and Harry felt himself slipping away as well. "Thanks," he managed to mumble quietly, unable to look back at his friends.  
  
"Anytime," returned Ron with a whisper, but it was too late; Harry had already fallen asleep. 


	4. Dreams and OWLs

**Disclaimer: This stuff is all Jo Rowling's, really, and there's not a darned thing I can do about it.  
  
A/N: Many thanks to my reviewers whom I love—eight glasses of apple juice for you all. I promised you'd get a chapter today, but I'm rather disappointed with it myself. Quite a bit more fluffy than the melodramatic tone of the past chapters... well, some at least. Oh well... a story can't be all action, so we're just building it up. I hope you enjoy it, and if you have any ideas, questions, or corrections, just put them in your review (because I know you'll all review me, since you're so great). Oh yeah, and sorry about the lame ending... I'll make it up to y'all, I promise. Enjoy!  
**

_Dreams and O.W.L.s_  
  
Harry slept fitfully for most of the next week, tortured by new and more horrible dreams than ever. Memories of Cedric, Sirius, and even the Dursleys replayed endlessly in his mind, and the boy-who-lived always awoke gasping in terror, usually clutching his scar. His friends would all try to reassure him that everything was okay in an attempt to coax him back to sleep, but they were truly worried for his sake. They had heard him muttering in his sleep, and they could tell he was haunted by things they couldn't begin to understand.  
  
After one particularly bad nightmare, Harry woke suddenly to find Hermione, Ron, and Ginny staring at him in horror.  
  
"Harry, mate," began Ron, who was ghastly pale, "What-- what was that all about?" Hermione sat next to him, looking as though she was holding back tears.  
  
"Did you..." Harry's voice trailed off as he recounted the nightmare in his head. He had been back in the Department of Mysteries, and everyone he knew was passing silently through the veil. Voldemort, Peter, and Bellatrix stood laughing in the shadows, appearing the same as on his birthday, and the pale ghosted figure of Sybil Trelawney floated before them, reciting the prophecy just as she had in Dumbledore's pensieve.  
  
"You were just muttering, at first," said Ginny softly, the terror fading from her face.  
  
Harry closed his eyes in disbelief. In his dream he had yelled helplessly at Voldemort; how much had he said aloud?  
  
"You said something about the prophecy, and then you started screaming our names," elaborated Hermione weakly.  
  
The image of his friends disappearing through the veil came back to him; he hadn't been able to move to save them. "Is that all I said?" he asked, unsure of whether or not he wanted to hear the answer.  
  
Ron looked nervously at Hermione before responding. "You just kept saying, 'Don't take them', and then you said something about it all being your fault," he mumbled, looking thoroughly shaken.  
  
Harry lay back down on the bed. They had listened to it all; every word he screamed at Voldemort they had heard.  
  
"Harry," started Hermione tentatively, "what were you saying about the prophecy?"  
  
Immediately, Harry sat up and stared at her in horror. He didn't want to tell them, not yet, and especially not in front of Ginny. How could he had let something so important slip, even in his sleep? "I—I heard part of it when it smashed," he stammered unconvincingly, and the look on Hermione's face made it clear that she didn't believe him. Harry sent her a pleading look and she thankfully dropped the matter, but he knew it would be discussed again later. Sometimes he wished his friends weren't so perceptive.  
  
"I'll go get Mum to fix some sandwiches," murmured Ginny, looking for an escape, but Harry surprised them all by starting to climb out of bed.  
  
Hermione immediately began to protest, claiming bossily that he needed to rest and heal, but she was quickly silenced by a glare from Harry, who was now searching for a robe to change into. "I don't think I can take any more nightmares," he muttered thickly in a tone of finality.  
  
"You know, I wonder why Dumbledore won't just let you have a dreamless sleep potion," mused Ron aloud as they made their way to the stairs a few minutes later.  
  
"No idea," said Ginny, frowning in thought.  
  
Hermione looked thoughtful, but said nothing on the topic, choosing instead to greet Mrs. Weasley as they entered the kitchen.  
  
Molly Weasley looked up from the large pot of soup she was stirring and dropped the ladle in shock. "Harry? What are you doing out of bed? You should be back upstairs," she exclaimed, rushing over to the group.  
  
"Relax, Mum," said Ron with a small laugh, "He's just hungry."  
  
"I reckon I've done enough sleeping for a lifetime," commented Harry dryly as he took a seat. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was still feeling extremely weak, but he would take any available escape from dreaming about death, his godfather, or the prophecy.  
  
Without hesitation, Mrs. Weasley began doling out the soup and fixing sandwiches, looking over every few seconds to check on Harry.  
  
Their meal was interrupted after a few silent minutes when several owls came soaring in through an open window. Hermione squealed out instantly, "Our O.W.L.s!" while Ron groaned halfheartedly.  
  
Harry tore his envelope slowly, watching Hermione as she opened her letter as though it was a long-anticipated Christmas gift.  
  
"Nine!" she shrieked, her face alight. "I got nine!"  
  
Ron rolled his eyes as he tore his envelope unceremoniously. "Five," he muttered, "half of what you got."

Hermione tutted and countered, "Half of nine is four and a half, which is not the same as five."

Ginny snickered as Ron muttered something not-so-nice under his breath that made Harry laugh outright.  
  
Mrs. Weasley ignored the friendly bickering and said, "Five? Well, that's good, dear."  
  
"Good?" Ron replied incredulously. "She nearly doubled my score!"  
  
"Look on the bright side," offered Harry with a grin that surprised everyone, "You'll only have to take half as many classes as Hermione."  
  
"Oh, shut it, lets see what you've got then," prompted Ron with a laugh.  
  
Harry quickly opened his scores; he was surprised to realize that he wasn't too worried about the outcome.  
  
_The results for Mr. Harry J. Potter are as follows:  
  
Charms: Exceeds Expectations _

_Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations _

_Herbology: Outstanding _

_Defense Against the Dark Arts: __Outstanding _

_Divination: Poor _

_Potions: Acceptable _

_Care of Magical Creatures: Outstanding _

_Astronomy: Poor _

_History of Magic: Dreadful  
_  
_Congratulations on your score of 6 O.W.L.s.  
  
Griselda Marchbanks, Head Examiner_  
  
"I got six," he said, glancing over the sheet. "I failed Divination, Astronomy, and History of Magic."  
  
Ron laughed. "If either of us had passed Divination, I would have been seriously worried."  
  
"Yeah, shame they didn't just ask us to write out dream diaries for our exam," said Harry, remembering their old assignments. "We would have passed with flying colors. Hey, what did you get in Defense?"  
  
"Outstanding," responded Hermione instantly, causing Ron to roll his eyes.  
  
"Oh, like we couldn't see that coming."  
  
"Well, what did you get then?" she responded without missing a beat.  
  
"Outstanding," he said, mimicking Hermione with amazing accuracy, causing Ginny to snort into her juice. "All thanks to you, mate," he added, nodding his head at Harry, whose grin faltered slightly.  
  
Hermione had now moved on to her book list and was commenting on which ones she'd already read. "Harry, the new Defense book is one that was in the Room of Requirement!" she exclaimed, thrilled at the thought of new books and classes. "Harry?" she repeated when he didn't respond.  
  
His attention was instead focused on Ginny, whose jaw had dropped when she opened her Hogwarts letter. "Prefect?" he guessed, noting her shocked expression.  
  
"Really Ginny? That's great!" cried Hermione as Ron whooped with pride. Ginny flushed but grinned, staring at the badge in a mix of disbelief and amazement. In seconds, Mrs. Weasley had enveloped her into a great hug and was babbling praises for her only daughter.  
  
Remus Lupin walked into the kitchen, surveying the scene with a tired amusement. "Hogwarts letters?" he asked knowingly with a small smile. Harry's good mood faded slightly when he saw that Lupin's smile didn't reach his eyes, which looked exhausted and tired. In fact, Lupin looked more battered than ever; from the look on the old professor's face as he examined at Harry, he was thinking the same thing about his former pupil.  
  
"Yeah, Ginny's been made a prefect," replied Ron with a grin. "She's gonna have a hard time filling my shoes, though," he added, placing a brotherly punch on her shoulder.  
  
"Congratulations," Lupin said, fixing himself a cup of tea.  
  
"Thanks," the redhead fifth year murmured, grinning proudly. "Hey Mum, when are we going to Diagon Alley?"  
  
Mrs. Weasley glanced over at Lupin before answering. "Sometime next week, I think. Everyone's going together."  
  
"Everyone?" asked Ron in confusion. "But isn't this everyone?"  
  
"Well," began Lupin as he sat down across from Harry, "Miss Lovegood and Mr. Longbottom will be joining us, along with several Order members."  
  
Harry nodded silently; the look on Hermione's face revealed that she understood as well.  
  
"Have you all gotten enough to eat?" asked Mrs. Weasley, hurriedly changing the subject and looking at Lupin as though she had something to discuss. They all agreed that they were done, and, taking her subtle hint, headed back upstairs for a few rounds of wizards chess before bed, which Ron dominated, unsurprisingly.

Right before they all separated for bed, Harry saw Hermione do something she'd never done before in his prescence: she kissed Ron on the cheek. Even more surprising was that Ron didn't seem to mind; he simply blushed and wished her a good night. "How long has that been going on, then?"

Ron's face slid into a lopsided grin, and his face turned the famous Weasley red as he climbed into bed, staying determinedly silent. Harry laughed. "That long, huh?"

Ron muttered a few choice words at his best friend, who was now truly grinning. It made sense, them being together, he thought to himself as he turned off the light and climbed into bed.

For the first time all summer, Harry Potter had no bad dreams.


	5. Bickers and Babbles

**Disclaimer: Our dearest Jo has it all. I'd love to claim ownership, but I want HBP to come out soon, so I won't start any legal squabbles. Don't you either! I own nothing.**

**A/N: Sorry it has taken so long to update! There has been much vacationing on my behalf, but I'm home now for good. Thanks for all the reviews; I did know that prefects hold their title all three years (do they fill in for Head students?) but Ron's comment was based on the fact that sixth years have different duties than fifth and seventh years. Thanks for pointing that out, though! Harry's deal with Voldemort will be explained further in about two chapters. I'm really sorry about the whole of Chapter 4; each time I read it, I dislike it more. Major apologies for that last line especially. I don't know what I was thinking.**

**A/N: This chapter is mostly dialogue so that you can get a better feel for the emotional status of the characters. The last two sentences may sound really lame, but they are the core of the next chapter. So, that said, read, review, and enjoy... you'll get another chapter this week, I promise! Rock on!**

_Bickers and Babbles_

Harry spent the next few days trying to adjust to life at Grimmauld Place. Really, it wasn't the life he was trying to adjust to; it was more the collective attitude of the household that seemed so foreign and unwelcome.

With the Dursleys, Harry was free to mope, sulk, or brood as much as he wanted or needed, and he found himself missing that freedom. Here, if he lapsed into silence for even five minutes, someone would ask if he was hungry or wanted to place chess or, worst of all, if he wanted to talk. Harry thought his thoughts on conversation painstakingly clear on his third conscious day in the house when Hermione had made the grave error of attempting a discussion about Sirius.

"Just try talking about him, Harry. You can't just keep everything inside!"

"I have so far."

"And look where it's gotten you!"

_Smash._ "Shut up, Hermione."

"Sirius is dead, Harry, and you have got to move on!"

_Smash._ "Leave me alone."

"You can't hide forever! I'm sick of watching you just—just mope around for no good reason!"

_Smash, smash, smash_. "I can think of several good reasons, and none of them involve you."

After that incident, Harry had taken up sulking with Buckbeak. He was comforted in knowing that Sirius had used it as an escape, too, and found that it actually served as decent therapy.

On Thursday evening, when Harry went to lurk with the Hippogriff as usual, he was surprised to find Remus Lupin already there.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to--" began Harry, but Lupin cut him off and motioned for Harry to join him. Tentatively, the boy did so, hoping desperately that he hadn't just walked into another conversation about his late godfather.

"So, how are you holding up?" attempted Lupin, sounding strained.

Harry simply stared at his former professor. Wasn't it obvious?

"Right, stupid question," amended Remus awkwardly, fingering the fringed edge of his tattered black robes. "Well, if you ever need to talk," he continued quietly, allowing the statement to trail off as an open-ended invitation.

The boy-who-lived gaped openly in disbelief. Was this all anyone could offer? Talking? Did no one understand?

Lupin sighed. "You realize this is every bit as difficult for me as it is for you."

"Yeah," said Harry almost inaudibly, responding without thinking, "But you didn't kill him."

A pronounced silence followed this statement, leaving Lupin looking supremely stunned. For so long, everyone had been desperate for Harry to vocalize his thoughts, but now that he had done so... well, it was impossible to even fathom a response to a statement like that. They sat for several minutes without speaking, and when Remus did so, he chose his words carefully and deliberately.

"Harry, you and I both know what happened. I am not about to try and change your mind; you have to do that yourself. However, you need to come to terms with what has happened. I know it's hard—don't give me that look, I'm probably the only person who can come close to understanding—but Hermione's right, you know. They're all worried about you. Don't do anything you might regret."

The scowl on Harry's face deepened. He already had a long list of things he regretted, so that advice was years too late.

"Sirius would want you to remember--"

"Maybe I don't want to remember," interrupted Harry thickly, his gaze steady on the floor.

Lupin nodded and slowly stood, brushing the dirt off of his robes briskly. "Maybe you need to anyway," he offered before sliding quietly out of the room.

Harry cursed under his breath. Everyone seemed so determined to give him advice, as though that would make everything better. He'd stopped trusting people's guidance at the end of his fifth year, when it became clear that even Dumbledore's suggestions weren't always for the best.

"Lunch!" called Molly from downstairs. Sighing, Harry rose obediently, knowing that if he didn't show up for the meal, Mrs. Weasley would fuss over him even more, and he didn't think he could handle any more attention.

As he walked down the hall towards the staircase, Harry noticed Ginny standing outside of a closed door with a piece of flesh colored string trailing from her ear. He looked at her questioningly, but she placed her finger across her lips to hush him and pulled another extendable ear out of her pocket. Harry accepted it with a grim grin, thinking of the last time he'd used one, but stuck it in his ear and concentrated on the conversation between two people whose voices he recognized instantly.

"Ron, we have absolutely no clue what happened last year."

"I know, but its not like he's going to tell us! You saw what happened when you brought up Sirius; I don't want him to hate me!"

"Harry avoids us, won't talk to anyone, spends all day up with Buckbeak--"

"Maybe that's because any time he gets within ten feet of you, he's forced into discussions he doesn't want to be in!"

"Well, someone's got to try! What have you done to help him?"

"I've left him alone, Hermione, why don't you try it!"

"He's keeping secrets from us, Ron! Secrets! We're supposed to be his best friends, and he won't even talk to us!"

"Oh, like we don't have our own secrets?"

"This is different, Ronald Weasley, and you know it. He knows something about that prophecy, I'm sure of it, he--"

"Doesn't want to talk about it if he does. Honestly, Hermione, prying won't do you any good. If he feels like talking, he will! Oh, come on, why are you crying?"

"I--its stupid... but its like... we're fighting, and he avoids us, and its just feels like we're all f-f-falling apart."

"Shhh, we're not falling apart, its okay, I promise. We just have to be careful, alright? Come on, Mum's bound to have lunch ready now, they're probably all waiting--"

Harry didn't wait to hear Ron finish; he and Ginny both yanked the earpieces out and sprinted down the staircase before Hermione or Ron could catch them. Molly eyed the pair suspiciously, but said nothing as they hastily filled their plates. It wasn't long before Harry withdrew into his own mind, trying to figure out what his friends' conversation had meant. Hermione had realized he was lying about the prophecy, but at least Ron had stuck up for him. Harry felt bad that they were so worried about him, and he felt slightly guilty for avoiding them so much. They had meant well, really.

"Is there any food left? I'm starving," declared Ron as he sat down, followed quickly by a red-eyed Hermione.

Mrs. Weasley pushed a plate of sandwiches towards the pair but chided in a motherly fashion, "Next time, come when I call."

The group ate and chatted idly for a while, discussing Quidditch and school and other meaningless topics, and Ginny eventually brought up the subject of Diagon Alley once again.

"Are we going soon? We need our books, plus I want to see Fred and George again."

Ron snorted into his plate. "Books? Yeah right. You just want to go snog your boyfriend."

Ginny responded with a sharp glare. "Yes, books. _Normal_ people use them to study."

"Then why do you need them?" retorted Ron easily.

A piece of bread from Ginny's plate found itself suddenly bouncing off her brother's forehead. "Unlike you, I do study. After all, I am a _prefect_."

"Hey, I'm a prefect too!" exclaimed Ron indignantly.

"Well, maybe I'd rather follow Hermione's lead than yours," returned Ginny.

A comeback was hot on Ron's tongue, but Mrs. Weasley cut off the bickering duo before he could spit out his retort. "Both of you, stop it. We're going to Diagon Alley in the morning to get books, there will be NO snogging of any sort, and you best be ready early. I don't want any of you making us late."

"Mr. Longbottom and Miss Lovegood will join you here, and we'll all floo over," clarified Lupin as he rose to leave.

"Will we all have to stay together?" asked Ginny with the slightest whine. Apparently, snogging her boyfriend was exactly what she had been hoping for.

Mrs. Weasley answered instantly and with a little too much enthusiasm. "Of course, dear, I'd hate for any of you lot to get lost!"

Harry stared at her with suspicion, but Molly left hastily to straighten up the kitchen. With a sigh, the boy-who-lived followed Ron, Hermione, and a rather disgruntled Ginny back upstairs, where he watched them play several games of chess (Ron emerged triumphant, unsurprisingly). By the time nightfall hit, everyone was in considerably better moods, although Harry was still rather withdrawn. His usual guilt and blame had taken a backseat to worries about Diagon Alley. Voldemort was attacking all over the wizarding world, and it was surprising that Lupin and Mrs. Weasley would agree to let the group of them out for something so trivial as a shopping trip. Still, he supposed they had their reasons, and leaving Grimmauld Place would be a welcome change. He just hoped no one got hurt because of him.

As he lay down for what was sure to be another nightmare-filled sleep, Harry allowed his thoughts to stray into the dangerous territory of the prophecy. It was only a matter of time before Hermione would insist to know its terms, and Harry didn't want to deal with her and Ron's reactions. He knew what it would take. There was no choice. Kill or be killed, that was what it said.

Sometimes he wished he could disappear.

Other times, he was terrified that would happen.


End file.
